


On Ectoplasm and Prohibition

by dancingpen808



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9517430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingpen808/pseuds/dancingpen808
Summary: For the most part, Dex enjoyed giving historical tours around the city of Boston as a way to make money for college. That is, he did until Derek Nurse started to go on them.





	1. Ghost Tour

**Author's Note:**

> This may or may not have been inspired by an adorable tour guide I had for one of these ghost tours. Anyways, for those unfamiliar, ghost tours essentially take people around cities and discuss spooky sightings or gruesome deaths that may have happened there.

William Pointdexter was raised to be a humble man, which meant he took pride in very few things. Three things, in fact: Dex could fix anything that whirred, had consistently won his family hot dog eating competition since he was ten (upon discovering this, his QSA group had bombarded him with more dick jokes than Dex thought existed), and on the ghost tours Dex led as a summer job, each and every tourist jumped at his telling of the death of Waverly Rae. 

Hers was a relatively normal death at the time, a run-of-the-mill witch burning. But Dex had taken some drama in high school and with a little exaggeration, the right lighting, and the employment of an old magic trick to fill the space with flames, his recounting made her death downright scary. 

Dressing up as a ghost was fun, but by far Waverly’s death was his favorite part of the tour. There was something about seeing burly, constructedly unconcerned men nearly piss their pants that was cathartic (if not downright hilarious). But this time when the flames flashed out, staring back across at Dex were a pair of unimpressed eyes. 

Dex had been watching the guy since the beginning of the tour, to be honest. And how could you not? Tall, well built, chestnut curls-- Dex wasn't one for waxing poetic but had the urge to try his hand at a sonnet after catching a glimpse of the words streaking up and down the strangers’ arms. Half pen ink, half tattoo, Dex was tempted to sit the man down and read them all day but was vaguely aware of the fact that doing so might be construed as creepy. 

 

And here he was, his perfect green eyes with an unmistakable cast of apathy utterly obliterating Dex's streak. 

 

Asshole. 

If Dex was preoccupied the rest of the tour, he was positive his group didn't notice. He had given the speech enough times for it to be automatic. And if he stumbled once or twice, or nearly led them all to cross the street into oncoming traffic, that was because he had gotten one shot instead of two in his coffee, that was all. 

 

Because Dex is a professional. He cares about the experience his tour-goers have. Which is most certainly the reason he slows down a bit so he's almost level with the gorgeous stranger and asks him how he's finding the tour. 

 

“And what'd you think of the witch burning? That's most people's favorite part.” 

 

The man walks for a second in silence in which Dex sweats nervously and almost misses a turn. 

 

“It was chill,” he says evenly, and for a second Dex is so swayed that he almost believes that the terrifying story about witch hurting accompanied by actual fire was indeed chill, but Dex is not crazy like this man certainly is, so that train of thought dies before it leaves the station. 

“Chill?!” Dex has to remind himself that he is, indeed, working, and this is, in fact, a paying customer, but even so he has a hard time ignoring the indignant point in his chest. 

 

The main raised an unimpressed eyebrow. 

 

“She got burnt at the stake. Like, literally the opposite of chill,” Dex argues. At this, the man’s lips drift into a half-bemused smile. 

 

“Warm then? Look, man, I don’t know, it was alright. I’m just not...scared easily, I guess?”

 

“Not scared easily-” Dex starts, then cuts himself off. They’ve reached the next landmark and he has to launch into a grab bag of stale puns and historical narrative. 

 

To say the rest of the tour goes poorly is an understatement. Dex is grumpy, his tourists are nice, but the kind that want pictures every five minutes, and every time Dex looks back at the group his eyes are drawn to the infuriating hipster now lurking at the back. Dex gets so flustered that at one point, when a little kid asks how he died, Dex snaps “Questions like yours bored me to death” and walks away.

 

By the time they get back to the meeting point, the entire group has been affected by Dex’s general assholery. They’re quiet, cold, and not tipping well, if at all. He leans defeated against the side of the shack, counting out the few dollars and change thrust into his hands, when the sound of footsteps alerts him to the presence of the irritatingly beautiful man that ruined his day. 

 

“Yeah?” Dex asks. It’s curt, not even trying to be polite. He doesn’t have to be, now that his shift is over, but he still inwardly winces at the cut of the word. The man barely seems to notice, though. 

 

“Wanted to tip you,” he says boredly, handing Dex a bill. Dex feels a little shock of surprise, but recovers enough to nod thanks, with a quick smile. It only becomes awkward when the man doesn’t leave, and instead scans the outside of the tour shack for a couple of seconds. His eyes come to rest on Dex again, who raises an eyebrow. 

“Oh uh- I’m Derek,” he offers a hand to Dex who shakes it warily. 

 

“Hi, Derek.”

 

The man opens his mouth again to say something, but doesn’t. Dex arches his eyebrow even higher, and he swears he almost sees a flash of nerves beneath Derek’s thick eyebrows. 

 

“So, uh, you like giving tours?” If he left now, Dex could be on the mass transit system home and five minutes away from a soft bed and a warm shower. If he stayed to talk, Dex’d have to wait 20 more minutes at least. 

 

“It’s alright, pays well. I’m in college, so the extra money’s always nice,” Dex responds. 

 

“Right, yeah, i’m in college too,” Derek adds and runs out of things to say again. Dex is tempted to grab his scarf, say goodbye and leave, but just as he’s about to, Derek asks another question.

 

“So do you know much about the other tours?” He blurts out, but Dex had been too busy contemplating the awkwardness of this conversation to pay attention. 

 

“Sorry, what was that?” 

 

“Like, the other tours you guys give? Are they good?” 

 

“Oh, um, yeah. I really like giving the Prohibition tour. Lots of cool speakeasies around town. And the waterfront tour isn’t as historically interesting, but the tourists usually enjoy it the most, so I like giving that one too.” Derek nods, and he seems calm and unconcerned again. Dex almost feels disappointed. 

 

“Cool, cool. Alright, well, goodnight man,” he says, and walks off. 

  
Dex is left scrambling to catch his train (which he misses by a minute) and cursing handsome strangers for everything they’re worth.


	2. Prohibition

Dex only checks his pocket later to discover a crisp $20 tip and is torn between shock, gratitude, and complete indignation at the charity case this asshole must think he is. 

 

But that is what the weekend is for. Dex buys a notebook, finishes two papers, attends three parties and indulges in a few edibles. By Monday evening, Handsome Jackass (also known as Derek Richypants) had disappeared from Dex’ consciousness. 

 

Monday evenings were Prohibition evenings. Dex got suited up in a vaguely 1920s outfit, adopted what could best be described as a skeevy personality, and got ready to show his tourists what remained of the seedy underbelly of Boston. They had about 3 minutes before the tour had to begin when, much to Dex’ chagrin (and thrill), a familiar mop of thick curls and green eyes handed him a ticket and strode to the back of the crowd. 

It took more self-control than Dex thought he had not to wonder if Derek had come back because he knew Dex lead this tour. 

 

The thought was forgotten once he got into the swing of things. By chance, this time, the two ended up near each other as Dex ran to the back of the group to hand a band aid to a kid who had fallen, and Dex swooped on the opportunity to see if Derek had been impressed, at least, by the restoration of a speakeasy the tour company paid for. Derek had the whole hipster thing working for him, and millennials in plaid really seemed to go crazy for anything “underground” and “vintage.” Today’s tour included both. 

 

“What’d you think of the speakeasy?” Dex asked, trying to come off nonchalant. Derek looked surprised that he had said anything at all and Dex tried to hide his embarassment. 

“Oh, uh. I don’t know. It was chill.” 

“Chill.” Dex responds. “Chill.” 

“Yeah?” Derek asks, only sounding like he’s half-engaged in the conversation. “I’m not trying to be rude, man, I’m just more interested in places where I can buy alcohol now than 90 years ago, if you know what I mean.” 

Dex thinks the worst part is the wink Derek adds at the end of his sentence.

 

No, the worst part, Dex decides, is his traitorous pale skin, which he knows must be blushing. 

 

Dex just walks away. 

 

By the end of the tour, Dex decides to hightail it home and avoid perilously stilted conversations with gorgeous men. It appeared fate, (or at least Derek) had different plans for him, but this time when he comes over it looks like he has something to say.

 

“You know what, dude, I thought you looked familiar but I just remembered what I know you from. You’re a D-Man at Boston University, right?” At this Dex did a double take. He  _ was _ a D-man at Boston U. 

 

“Yeah, I am,” he confirmed warily. 

 

“I play the same position over at Merrimack. Our teams went against each other last year.” For lack of a better word, Dex was shook. 

 

“Oh yeah, I remember that,” Dex hesitated, thinking, “But I’m sorry, I actually don’t remember playing against you” Derek just laughed. 

 

“Yeah, I had a lower-body injury, I was never on the ice. Watched the game, though. You’re a tough player.”

 

“Thanks, Derek,” Dex flashed him a quick smile as he finished locking up the shack.

“Team sucked though,” Derek continued, and Dex quite literally spun on his heel. 

 

“You’ve got to be joking.” He knew his mouth was gaping but he didn’t really care. 

 

“I mean, we got what, 7 goals? To your two?” Dex bristled. 

 

“That was our fresher goalie’s first game! And 4 of those were powerplays.” Derek shrugged. 

 

“Still count.” To his later embarrassment, upon hearing this, Dex made a distinctly undignified sound in the back of his throat and stalked down the street, cursing Derek McRichypands under his breath. 

 


	3. Waterfront

It had been two days since the Prohibition tour and Dex still wasn’t in a good mood. Tonight he only had to lead the waterfront tour, though, which would be mercifully easier. It mostly consisted of pointing out where to buy ice cream and dutifully taking pictures of families with whichever camera they thrust into his hands. He had to don a loud flowery shirt and carry a plastic sword, but aside from that, it would be an okay night. 

 

Well, it was supposed to be an okay night. It was not supposed to be another tour ruined by Derek-the-incredibly-attractive-and-rich-hockey-player, but there he was, looking like he didn’t even realize how weird this all was and handing Dex a ticket. 

 

At least Dex knew that literally everyone liked the waterfront tour. It routinely made their company the most money, and generated the most tips. He probably wouldn’t have to deal with what was apparently Derek’s brand of trademark apathy today. 

 

The tour went off without a hitch, Dex was pleased to note, and by the time it was over his customers looked happy and tired. The last stop was a beautiful sunset view across a harbor that people loved to take pictures of, and Dex paused alongside a railing to watch the horizon himself. He had to admit, it was pretty enthralling. 

 

Dex looked behind him, back at the crowd who stared equally enraptured at the night sky, and quirked a half-smile. It was kind of nice to see the families clustered together and the couples cuddled up beneath the fading light. 

 

When he turned his gaze back to the sky, however, he noticed someone had come up on his right side and was leaning over the rail with a bored cast to his form. 

 

“Let me guess,” Dex began, “it’s chill.” 

 

Derek let out a breathy laugh. “Read my mind, man.”  Dex couldn’t help but roll his eyes. 

 

“I really don’t get it. Why do you keep taking these tours if you don’t even like them?” Dex said it a little louder than he intended and a middle aged woman to his left turned, startled. Dex expected Derek to answer, but when he looked over at the other man, Derek’s face had been rearranged into a perplexed expression in the place where a relaxed mask had rested before. He quickly dropped it, opting instead for a smirk that definitely didn’t make Dex’s knees so weak. 

 

“You don’t get it, huh?” Dex shook his head, feeling an angry furrow inch its way between his brows. 

 

Derek laughed quietly again, then just looked back at the sunset. Dex felt his shoulders grow tight with irritation at the lack of response. He cut the tourists’ time a little shorter than he usually would have, and led their group back to the meeting spot managing only barely to keep his temper in check.

 

He wasn’t even surprised when Derek arrived at the edge of the shack, because even if he was annoying as hell, at least he was regularly and persistently so. Dex didn’t say anything in greeting, just raised an eyebrow and continued to lock up. 

 

“So. The tours.” Derek said, leaving the last syllable hanging in the air. 

 

“Yeah?” Dex asked, curtly. 

 

“Are there any others?” By way of response, Dex pointed to the signboard that listed their services.

 

“No, I meant. Uh. Are there any others that you lead?” Dex let that question sink in for a second too long before reminding himself that this jackass couldn’t mean what Dex hoped he did. 

 

“You’ve been on all three of mine,” Dex responded, carefully keeping his already-flaming face turned away. 

 

“Oh. Shame.” At this, Dex nearly choked, and attempted to turn it into a cough. 

 

“What, are the other tour leaders are too interesting for you?” 

 

“No, man. I mean, I don’t know, I’ve only been on your tours, but y’know, that’s because. That’s because i’m not really here for the tours?” The last phrase comes off as more of a question, and Dex hopes Derek has an answer because at the moment he doesn’t really know what to do with his limbs.

 

Derek doesn’t say anything else, and Dex turns around to look at him, and instantly loses the ability to speak.

 

‘So. Uh. The tours? Uh. You’re here because?” Derek looks like he almost cracks a smile and Dex’s heart is pounding so loud he can hear it in his ears. 

 

“I guess I just couldn’t get the really hot tour guide out of my head.” He’s smirking now. The cocky bastard’s hardly even broken a sweat. Meanwhile Dex’s heart is racing a mile a minute and a swatch test would prove his skin matched Clifford’s at the moment. Derek continues. 

 

“Listen. On Monday you showed me where to get a drink 100 years ago. Think you’d like to do the same for me, except like, 2017 style?” Dex almost forgets to respond, probably because his heart has stopped beating. 

 

“Yeah, um. Yeah. Let me get changed,” he says, gesturing to his getup. 

 

“Well I’d hope so” and Dex shoots him a glare before he can think better of it, but Derek just laughs. 


End file.
